Robin's Grail
by bodiechan
Summary: When the quest for the Holy Grail is over, Robin finds that he misses the knights he used to spend his days with. Well really, he misses one knight in particular...
1. Prologue: Finnish Love

_NOTE: I rather like putting these note things at the front of my fanfictions (I am doing so in "Defy Explanation" and I did in the oneshot called "Dark" and a certain chapter of "An Experiment Called Emerald" whose number escapes me) so I'll do it for this one. "Robin's Grail." Heh. Bet you can guess what this is about. Anyway, to get on with the note, this fanfiction is based on the Broadway musical _Spamalot_, not _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_, the movie which is pretty similar but not exactly the same. If you've seen the movie and not the play and somehow get it in your head to read this fanfiction, I daresay while you'll know who's who you'll probably have no idea what the heck is going on. But by all means, read it anyway, I'm certainly not trying to deter anyone. Maybe you'll learn the _Spamalot_ world basics in the process, and wouldn't that be useful for reading other fanfictions and the like. Though of course you could always look it up on Wikipedia and read the article for information, but if you ever hoped to see the musical it might spoil some things here and there. But then again, so would this fanfic. Unless you don't mind spoilers or already know too much, where then I suppose it would be all right and then please read take the time to read this humble fanfiction, good sir knight. After all, I can never have too many readers, especially one of your exceptional skill and talent. There's nothing like sucking up to your readers, don't you say. Hey, would you look at that, the mood of this musical is making me talk all proper like the characters do, heh. Oh, and on with the notes… the physical description of each character is based off of a combination of the actor who I saw playing them in the show (the North American tour), and just how I picture them in my head. Sorry for any confusion if that's not how you'd describe them (i.e. I know Robin to be a redhead but many people claim he's blonde. Ah well, let's compromise and call him strawberry-blonde, shall we?). Wow that note was long. I'd shut my yap get on with the story, but I rather like making these things. Heh. Goodbye. One last thing before I go: Robin is the most amazing character ever and even though I like him with a certain other knight I'm still a Robin fangirl. Who is this other knight (or k-niggit, if you prefer), you ask? Well, I'm certainly not going to tell you. It'll ruin the story, sheesh. Oh, and a warning. Don't read this fanfiction if you're not comfortable with slash/yaoi/gay/whatever-you-happen-to-call-them pairings. I would think you wouldn't be uncomfortable with them in the first place since you're reading a _Spamalot_ fanfiction and there's quite a lot of gay characters in _Spamalot_, but just in case you fell asleep in the theater (shame on you!) the warning is here. I don't want flames for things I can't control, now do I. Don't worry, it's not going to get too descriptive or gross—this story is rated K+ for now, though I might change it later if I get inspired to throw in a swear word or whatnot. There's still not going to be any Robin/other-charrie-he-likes sex or anything though, don't worry. Oh, you thought I'd reveal who I was pairing him with, did you? Well, I'm sorry, you silly k-niggit, but I don't fall for my own traps that easily. I fart in your general direction if you were hoping for a clue. But hey, I think I said my favorite _Spamalot_ couple on my deviantART journal anyway. And it should be pretty obvious from the first chapter, which you are about to read, if you haven't already left by now. I'm going to shut up now before I ramble on for all eternity, addicted to writing this note. I certainly hope I'm not addicted. I do believe that instead—_

**NOTE ABOUT THE NOTE: We are dreadfully sorry about the long-winded and most likely quite boring ramblings that you have been forced to sit through, when you were quite probably hoping to read a **_**Spamalot **_**fanfiction instead. If you weren't, then, bye-bye. Have a nice life. If you were, then you'll be pleased to hear that the person in charge of writing the notes at the beginnings of my stories has been sacked. Now, because **_**something**_** must be done to inform you of a few things, I shall present the more important points of the note above at the very last minute and at almost zero expense (hey, just because this is a **_**Spamalot**_** fic doesn't mean I can't throw in a few **_**Holy Grail**_** references here and there).**

**The list:  
****-Go back and read through the first note, fool.**

**Toldja it'd be zero expense.**

**Anyway… on with the story! 8D Huzzah!**

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FINNISH LOVE

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two: Reunion

A tall young woman with flowing, blonde hair stood in the middle of a field of daises, which swirled around her billowing dress in a manner that could almost be perceived as comforting. Loud, high-pitched sobs echoed pathetically through the surrounding plains, tears streaming down the girl's face in buckets. She sunk to her knees and clutched aimlessly at the grass in front of her, if only to give her hands something to do, to touch… if only to do _something_. In a state of blind fury, she lunged upward, taking thousands of blades of innocent, helpless grass along with her, showering them down upon the ground as she opened her palms to the sky.

"_Carola! My love!_"

The girl's breath caught in her chest and even the wind seemed to stop breathing. "Mikael?" She hardly dared to speak his name, for as soon as she got her hopes up she feared it would all have been a dream.

But alas, that was not the case. A mere few feet away from the distressed Carola stood a tall, handsome man with kindness in his eyes. It took but a moment for Carola and Mikael to fly into each other's arms, forever content in their lover's warm embrace.

Carola's head rested gently on Mikael's chest, her delicate ears picking up his steady heartbeat and even the tiniest breath that left his lips. "I thought you would never come."

Mikael ran a smooth-skinned hand through his love's seamless hair, his eyes twinkling like diamonds. "I would never abandon the one I love."

The two stood there for what felt like seconds but could have been hours, or perhaps it was the other way around. Time was infinite, countless, inexistent when the two were together. The grass of the field seemed to forgive Carola for her rash act of murdering their kin, and the daises swirled around the pair's feet, as if wishing to join in on their embrace as well. All seemed right with the world. And that is where this story draws to a close.

THE END

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**NOTE ABOUT THE FANFICTION: I'm dreadfully sorry, but the people at Clover Corporations seemed to have gotten a tad confused and have forgotten to sack those responsible for writing false stories as to amuse the reader with my strange sense of humor. Those responsible for sacking those individuals have been sacked, as well as the individuals themselves. Heck, why don't I just sack everyone? It's not like I need anyone but myself to write a fanfiction anyway. But alas, the people at Clover Corporation, instead of presenting a **_**Spamalot**_** fanfiction titled "Robin's Grail," instead have seemed to enjoy presenting you with a little romantic literature about Finland instead. Once more, I feel I must say that I am dreadfully sorry and it will never happen again. Next we will move on to a much less touchy-feely story, one about a brave knight by the name of Sir Robin…**

_ONE LAST NOTE: LOL, I actually researched Finnish names for the last part, but I know absolutely nothing about Finnish culture and things of the sort so I'm sorry if you're Finnish and I've offended you with this. The only reason I had them be Finnish in the first place is a reference to the first song in _Spamalot_. xD Anyway… if you've actually stuck with me this long, through all the notes and weird love stories about Carola and Mikael (who, incidentally, you will never hear about from me again), then I hope you will wait around until the first chapter of this fanfiction is posted. The real first chapter will actually have some content, heh, I promise. Bye now!  
_-Bodie Clover, 2008


	2. Chapter One: The Best Man

Chapter One: The Best Man

"_Might as well get married, 'cause we are not yet wed."_

A tent was set up in a clearing, on the edge of a forest and near a swamp and about halfway to Camelot, filled with happy, merry knights and ladies gathered together for a double wedding. Couples milled around on the dance floor as King Arthur's court musicians fought to be heard over the guests' cries and peals of laughter. A man behind a bar served drinks, and several peasants in suits wandered around offering pigs in blankets on wide silver platters. One bride and groom, King Arthur and the newly crowned Queen Guinevere, stood at the tent's very front, chatting jovially with Sir Galahad and a few Laker Girls. Any passerby could have noted easily that Galahad's face was redder the cross on his armor, but for some reason the newlyweds didn't seem to notice, or at the very least, they were far too absorbed with each other to care.

Near the back of the tent, Sir Lancelot's best man lounged lazily in his chair, a martini in one hand and the other moving animatedly as he chattered away to one of his minstrels. He was a fairly short man, not fat and not thin, and his skin was very pale, which contrasted wonderfully with his shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde mane of hair. He was clothed in an expensive, blinding white tailcoat and matching top hat, with a green, sparkling, checkered vest underneath that was reminiscent of the pattern on his old knight's outfit. His minstrel, dressed from head to toe in a flashy shade of lime, nodded every few minutes, sure that not one moment of the exciting escapade the best man was retelling was in the least bit truthful. But the minstrel nodded and gasped in the right places all the same. It wouldn't do to upset her master by proclaiming him a liar, especially not at a king's wedding, where causing conflict could be fatal.

A tall, buff man dressed in a ceremonial robe over his knight's suit shoved his way through the crowd until he reached the seats at the back. It had taken him a ridiculously long time to shake off Prince Herbert, his new husband, but after King Arthur had given him a certain tip-off, nothing seemed to matter but finding that certain someone. When he pushed aside the last guest and spied the chairs set up in the back, Lancelot's face broke into a wide grin.

"And then, the biggest lion I've ever seen comes rushing out of the bushes straight at my face, and most people would have been wet-their-pants-scared, you hear what I'm saying, but you know me, always the bravest knight around, so cool as can be I yield him off with my sword—"

"Robin! I've been looking all over for you!"

Sir Robin's head whipped around as his tale of bravery came to an abrupt end. Though he had to admit he was quite disappointed—he had just been about to tell the best part, too!—a small smile still flitted across his face at the arrival of his friend. Who knew, maybe Lancelot would like to hear the story as well. "Lance, hey! Congratulations!" He raised his glass in a toast to the newly-wed knight.

Lancelot gave a small shrug. "Yeah, well. Thanks." He chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. He was slightly stunned by the comment and momentarily forgot the reason he'd even sought Robin out in the first place—it certainly wasn't to hear some hare-brained story about how brave Robin was, that's for sure. In the past hour or so, whenever someone had come up and congratulated Lancelot on his marriage, it had always taken him a moment to realize what on earth they were talking about. This was all so new to him, and it had been sprung on him so fast. After all, only a few days earlier Lancelot would have claimed he was straight as a person can be, and now here he was married off to… well, to a man. Craftily changing the subject, Lancelot brought up what he'd really wanted to talk about, effectively remembering at exactly the right moment. "You know, Robin, there are some rumors going around about you up front." He doubted that the subject would be veered away from his marriage for too long, but the comment would cause a momentary distraction at the least.

To Lancelot's surprise, it worked quite well. Instantly Robin forgot about everything but himself. "There are?" he asked delightedly, sounding a little too eager for his own good. But Robin couldn't help wondering. Had his stories spread that quickly? Did _everyone_ know about his adventures with the lion by now? On one hand, that was absolutely superb, but on the other, now that people had already heard the story, they wouldn't be asking him to retell it anymore. Maybe they'd hear it from their friends as a rumor, though, and come to him to clarify it. Yes, that would make sense, Robin thought, smiling jovially at the idea of informing the entire wedding with his creative, thrilling stories of chivalry. "What kind of rumors?" he asked passionately. "It is that one about me fighting a lion? Because I can assure you that that one's tr—"

"No, no." Lancelot waved it away with one hand, positive that whatever story Robin was spouting, it didn't have a single seed of truth planted inside it. Robin looked disappointed at this, but a smirk flitted across Lancelot's face as he distinctly saw the minstrel roll her eyes. "It's nothing to do with a lion. People are saying you're going to quit the knighthood!"

"Oh. That. Yes." Robin sighed and leaned back in his chair. Well, his stories weren't spreading like the wildfire he'd meant them to be, that was for sure. It had been worth a shot. At least the stories that _were _spreading about him weren't hurtful lies, like some of the ones he'd heard about Prince Herbert last week.

"So it's true?" Lancelot persisted incredulously. Like those dumb, uncreative rumors he'd heard a few days ago about his new husband, he'd assumed that this rumor would be false as well. Apparently, however, it was truthful after all. Somehow he thought he preferred the ones about Herbert. How could Robin be quitting so soon after he'd enlisted? Lancelot felt hurt and betrayed somehow at this knowledge, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. "You're really leaving then? You're not going to be a knight anymore?"

"Nope." Robin smiled pompously, a very irritating expression replacing his usually warm features.

"But—but _why_?" spluttered Lancelot. No, this couldn't be happening. Robin might have been a self-centered coward, but he was still Lancelot's best man, the only one of King Arthur's knights who had actually ever taken him seriously. Now, he would never see Robin, possibly ever again? The pain welling up inside him doubled, and he could barely meet Robin's eyes.

"I'm surprised you haven't left already, Lance, with your new husband and all," Robin said, chuckling slightly. "But didn't you hear? The Broadway casting lad wrote me back. Seems I got the part after all."

Lancelot gaped. "WHAT?! But… but why didn't you tell me earlier?" Weren't he and Robin supposed to be best friends? Shouldn't he have been the first person Robin told? He'd made Robin his best man, for God's sake, and _this_ was how he was repaid?

"Sorry, Lance." Robin chuckled again, with a look on his face that suggested he thought he was the greatest thing that had ever lived. Lancelot could have slapped him. "I guess it just didn't cross my mind. He only called about an hour ago."

"He… he called you at my _wedding_?" spat Lancelot, his outrage growing with every passing second. What kind of jerk was Robin going to work for to call someone at a wedding? More importantly, at a wedding _where they were the best man_?! Especially since cell phones hadn't even been invented yet! The nerve of some people!

Robin shrugged slightly. "_He_ didn't know it was your wedding. What was I supposed to do, hang up on him? I need that part, Lance. It's who I am." Apparently Robin wasn't as thick as he looked, though, as he noticed the definite droop to his friend's posture at the news. "Hey, don't look so down, Lance," Robin said cheerfully, _too_ cheerfully for someone who was practically being screamed at. "Some things are more important than marriage."

As expected, Robin's next comment stung Lancelot's very soul, but he _hadn't _anticipated it hurting like this. The pain was almost unbearable. Lancelot averted his eyes. "Well, congratulations," he said thickly, through gritted teeth, straining every muscle in his body to be polite and civil to this monster who'd replaced Robin. "You found your grail." Instead, his bitter thoughts could only scream _Who are you, and what have you done with my best man?!_

"Yeah, I sure did." Robin smiled sickeningly and drained his martini, dumping his glass rudely into his minstrel's arms. With a nod from Robin she set off for the bar, most likely to get it refilled. Lancelot vaguely wondered how many Robin had had so far.

"Lance? Are you… okay?"

Lancelot's head jerked up from the ground and he met Robin's eyes. For a split-second, he was lost in the luscious green orbs that matched Robin's suit so well, that he had grown to love so much… But Lancelot closed his eyes tightly and when he opened them again the paradise was gone, and though the eyes staring him down were still a bright, vivid green, it wasn't Robin's warmth that powered them. His face was too slack, too sure of himself, too unafraid. This wasn't the Robin that Lancelot knew. "I'm… fine." Lancelot pointedly stared off into the masses. "I should be going. I have a lot of guests to greet." He didn't, but that was all right. Anything to get away from this… this… who _was _this…?

Robin craned his neck behind him, to the bar where his minstrel was waiting patiently while the bartender refilled a glass. Robin sighed impatiently and drummed his fingers on the side of his chair. "Hurry up," he mumbled, rolling his eyes in a performance worthy of a teenage drama queen.

"Don't you harass him," snapped Lancelot. "He's going as fast as he can." He barely noticed the words leave his lips. In reality, he couldn't care less about the bartender's feelings. But until now he hadn't noticed that his own feelings weren't an urge to get away from it all—it was an urge to cause a scene, to call Robin out for the fraud he really was. Because it wouldn't be hurting Robin. Whoever—_what_ever—was inhabiting his best man at this moment couldn't possibly the man he'd grown to lov—_to be his best friend_.

Robin looked startled for only an instant before he laughed, a nauseating, reverberating noise that sounded nothing like who he really was. "Lance, calm down. It's your wedding. Kick back. Relax. Have a good time." As he spoke, he pulled his arms from the chair's armrests and placed them lazily behind his head.

"You've certainly done that," said Lancelot accusingly. "Have you even got up _once_ since you sat down here?"

Robin frowned, his eyes flashing dangerously. He removed his arms from their comfortable position and raised to his full height, but even then, he was a good head shorter than Lancelot was. Lancelot saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the minstrel had gotten Robin's drink already, but was lingering near the bar to avoid returning on such heated ground. Robin grabbed the front of Lancelot's robe and crushed it into a ball inside his fist. "Are you looking for a fight, Lancelot?"

Lancelot's knuckles were killing him. He hadn't noticed that his hands were fists as well. "That would be stupid," he hissed, swinging his curled-up hands dangerously close to Robin's face, "because I'd trounce you before you even drew your sword."

Robin's face was as red as his hair as a hand darted to his sword hilt. "You don't know what I can do, Lancelot. You don't know what I'm capable off."

Despite himself, Lancelot laughed. "You're kidding me, right? The only thing you're capable of is going through three pairs of pants in one battle."

"How… _dare_… you." Robin's eyes narrowed and his grip on the sword tightened, but after a moment's thought and some difficulty he pulled his arm back to his side. Even this crazed anti-Robin seemed to know his limits. "Consider yourself lucky I have decided to spare you because it's your wedding day. In any other circumstance, by now I would be standing on your grave."

"Yeah, well, I'll believe that when I see it," muttered Lancelot, drawing color to Robin's cheeks. "You're all talk, you know that? A coward, that's what _you_ are, Robin."

"That's… that's _Sir_ Robin to you!" cried Robin, now in hysterics, his eyes wild and untamed.

"No, you're not," corrected Lancelot. He wasn't scared of Robin. He wasn't scared of _anything_. "The 'sir' title is only for knights, a luxury you gave up long ago."

Robin gave Lancelot a deathly glare, but it was clear he saw that he'd been beat. With a girly flip of his hair, Robin sauntered off towards the other side of the tent, only to fall flat on his face on the way. And that's when it hit Lancelot, clear as day.

"You're _drunk_!" cried Lancelot. "You're _completely_ drunk!"

Robin situated himself surprisingly fast, standing after only seconds, but now Lancelot saw a definite sway to his gait as he smashed his top hat under a foot without ever noticing he'd done so. With one last livid look in Lancelot's direction, Robin hurried out of the tent and off towards the woods, swerving dangerously near to a lake as he failed to keep balance properly.

Lancelot winced. His best man had run off. What a day.

"Lancelotty, hon?"

At the sound of his name and the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder, Lancelot nearly jumped a foot into the air. When he turned, however, it was only Prince Herbert, frowning sympathetically at his husband's predicament.

"H-Herb… ert…" Lancelot smiled awkwardly, hoping Herbert hadn't seen the whole thing. Where had he come from, anyway? Lancelot hadn't noticed him walk up. Maybe that was part of the weird aura of mystery that encircled the prince's every motion. Or maybe Lancelot had just been too busy mourning over Robin to notice.

"Good fortune can go to people's heads," Herbert said quietly.

Lancelot snorted bluntly and made no attempt to hide it. "Yeah, Robin's sure proof of that." When he thought about it, Robin was usually all talk. Sure, he'd boast of being able to beat you in a duel, but when it actually came time to fight, Robin was usually fleeing from the scene as swiftly as possible. Initiating a fight in the first place was very unlike him. But then, after all, he _had_ been drunk. Lancelot had only seen Robin on alcohol once before, back in Camelot, and the results hadn't been pretty. Just one glass of ale had sent the knight bouncing off of walls and provoking knights twice his size. Robin's body wasn't good with strong liquor. That had probably been his first martini, too. It couldn't have been more than his second, or by now he'd already have conked out in the grass. Why had he even drunk anything in the first place? Judging by the way Robin's body worked, it seemed a very stupid thing to do. Maybe something had been troubling him. As much of a jerk Robin had been today, Lancelot still couldn't help worrying about the wellbeing of his best man.

"He'll come around," Herbert suggested wisely, squeezing Lancelot's hand in a comforting sort of way. "Don't worry. They all do sooner or later. I've lost friends before."

"Thanks," said Lancelot automatically, trying to give Herbert an appreciative grin. But his face didn't seem to remember how to move its muscles to smile. Far from being consoling, all Herbert had really done was to worsen the knot in his stomach and assure him that he would never see Robin again. Herbert would never understand. He hadn't known Robin the way Lancelot had.

Here he was, thinking in the past tense. Robin _was_, not is. Because whoever was sitting in that chair today in Robin's suit and Robin's body was definitely not him. It couldn't have been.

The minstrel returned, rather confused as to whom she should give Robin's martini to.

Lancelot was more concerned about rather he'd married the right person after all.


End file.
